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THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 



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FRANCIS OF ASSISI. 



The 



Husband of Poverty. 

A DRAMA OF THE LIFE OF 
FRANCIS OF ASSISI. 



By henry NEVELLE MAUGHAM. 



" Perch' io non procedar troppo chiuso, 
Francesco e Poverta per questi amanti 
Prendi oramai nel mio parlar diffuse. " 

Dante. 








BOSTON : 

COPELAND & DAY, 69 CORNHILL. 

1897. 



- Brothers of the first Order founded by Francis. 



THE PERSONS. 

Francis of Assisi. 

PiETRO Di Bernardone, his Father. 

Bishop of Assisi. 

Elias, 

Bernard, 

Juniper, 

Leo, 

Sylvester, 

Giles, 

Conrad, ^ 

Nicholas, V Friends of Francis' youth. 

Joachim, J 

Consuls, Magistrates of Assisi. 

Cecco, a pipe-player. 

A Peasant, a Soldier. 

Clare, as a young maiden, afterwards Superior of the second 

Order founded by Francis. 
Pica, Mother to Francis. 
Helen, a Novice. 

Giacoma de Settesoli, of the Lay Order founded by Francis. 
A Poor Woman. 

Brothers and Sisters of the Orders, Angelo (second son to 
Pietro), Citizens of Assisi, Children, attendant on Clare, 
a Doctor, sons of Giacoma and her retinue, sons of Cecco, 
Confessor to the Bishop of Assisi, Captain and Guard, 
Marauders, Foresters. 

Scene : Assisi and places near. 



^ 



c\ 



b 



b 



SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. The marriage with Poverty. 
Act II. Francis preaches to the birds. 
Act III. Sister Clare. 
Act IV. The bride of snow. 
Act V. The final seals. 



Ilhtstrations. — St. Francis, drawn by the author after Fra 
AngeHco. View of Assisi, from the "Collis Paradisi 
Amcenitas" (1704). 



THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 



ACT I. 

The Piazza before the Cathedral. A tavern to the left, 
with tables set without ; to the right the Bishop's 
house, with his arms over the door. NICHOLAS 
leaving the cathedral gives alms to a beggar, and 
bows to Joachim and Conrad, who return the 
courtesy. 



G 



Nicholas. 

OOD morrow, Joachim, and to your friend. 
Surely we knew you, sir, before the wars } 



Joachim. 
Surely we knew him, gentle Nicholas ! 

Nicholas. 
Certes, 'tis Conrad ! Here's my hand and heart. 

Conrad. 
And mine ; I well remember Nicholas. 

Nicholas. 
'Tis well that friends should meet in hostile times ; 
Let's drink a cup to further amity. 

Joachim. 
We are delighted. 

B 



THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Nicholas. 
Host, a flask of wine. 



Conrad. 
How often, wandering, I've longed to drink 
The mellow wine of Umbria's fertile plains ! 

Joachim. 
There is no vintage of its worth abroad. 

Nicholas. 
That's true, but e'en our wine's a bitter draught, 
When treachery has pressed with stealthy feet 
The sicklied grape. \The Host brings wine. 

But here's a four years' growth 
That sunned itself in an untainted air. 
Here's love to friends and death to traitors' souls. 

\They drink. 

Conrad. 
It angers me to think I was away 



Nicholas. 
Rejoice that you were so ; your noble heart 
Had burst to see the town in its distress. 
Myself, I took a wound, which painfully eased 
The passion of my blood, and Joachim, 
Taken in bonds to proud Perugia, 
Was happier with true foes than faithless friends. 

Conrad. 
The nobles of the town 

Nicholas. 

Our noble rulers, 
Who fought against us with our enemies, 
And made their victory an easy thing. 



ACT I. 

Conrad. 
And how bears up the town in its disgrace ? 

Nicholas. 
Sadly. The most considered citizens 
Creep out abashed amid our humbled streets, 
The crowd holds sullen silence, old wives weep, 
Our maidens are less fair and stay at home, 
The moonlit nights that erst were glad with song 
And bands of lovers singing to their dears, 
Are sad and voiceless ; songs and love are dead ; 
And to our great distress, young Bernardone, 
Our little king of laughter and good looks. 
Who had the smartest dress and sleekest curls, 
Who won more loves and made more riotry 
Than any of us, though we plume ourselves 
As not deficient in accomplishments, 
Knew more of horseflesh, and could play a sword 
Better than any these ignoble nobles. 
He, our example, envy, and delight. 
Has caught the general mildew and grown mean. 

Conrad. 
What ! Francis Bernardone ? 

Nicholas. 

Even so. 

Joachim. 
What's more, he's caused his courage to be doubted. 

Conrad. 
Francis a coward ? But we loved him so ! 

Nicholas. 
Here is the tale. It is not pleasant hearing. 
Let's fill our glasses first. Here's to our loves 



4 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

No doubt you've won a many travelling. 

[Conrad shows a portrait. 
Ah ! that's a handsome wench ! Our little Conrad ! 
When we had peace and were released from bonds, 
A company of gentlemen resolved 
To take up arms with Gauthier de Brienne, 
A cavalier who bore the Papal arms, 
Among them Francis, who, in fine array, 
His page's buckler set upon his arm, 
Started with the applauded cavalcade, 
Singing of chivalry, and to his father, 
A fine old man who never spoiled his pranks. 
Saying, " I'll win my knighthood in the wars ; 
You'll be as proud as you've been good to me ; " 
And the old man was all aglow with joy 
To see his son among the crested knights. 
And all admired to see their kind farewell. 
Thus Francis rode away to win his spurs ; 
But scarcely had he reached Spoleto's towers, 
When, angered at the jests of worthier men. 
Who had less brave array but stouter hearts. 
Or for a touch of sickness, as some say, 
Perhaps the sudden colic known as fear, 
He leaves the troop — I'm telling you a fact — 
And seeks in coward haste his safer home. 

Joachim. 
Remember he avers a vision seen. 

Conrad. 
He had no pluck, I take it, for the war ; 
He was a sad impostor. 

Nicholas. 

Mark the sequel. 
His father's justly angered, and he flies 
For fear of whipping to protecting priests, 
Makes loud profession of a penitent mind. 



ACT I. 

Pulling long faces, taking desolate paths, 
Talking with beggars, kissing lepers' hands. 

Conrad. 

Faugh ! 'tis a filthy sight to see the fellow 
Turning a saint for very cowardice. 

Joachim. 
The saints were often sinners in their youth. 

Nicholas. 
I love the saints who hallowed ancient days, 
But they by heaven's will and their pure lives 
Became the objects of our veneration. 
Our warlike days have little need of saints ; 
And if such wonders could be seen to-day, 
Christ has the choice of many a goodly man. 
The saints were true, and loved their natal towns, 
And often brought the angels to their aid ; 
The saints were sensible, and would observe 
Love for their lowly kind progenitors ; 
The saints would help the clean and honest poor, 
And not the lepers who show Heaven's wrath. 
But what is this ? The coward fool again ! 

Enter FRANCIS in rags, followed by Children. 

Children. 
Pazzo, pazzo ! 

Nicholas. 
Watch him awhile : this was our Francis once. 

First Child. 
Good-morrow, fool, may I hold your cloak for you .-• 

Francis. 
Poor child, you're thinly clad for such a season. 



6 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Second Child. 
Give us a soldo for holy charity. 

Francis. 
Here is my blessing, I have nothing else. 

Third Child. 
Will you sell us a drop of your sweat, Ser Francesco t 

Francis. 
All that I have is long-time sold to God. 

First Child. 
Will you sing us a song then ? 

Children. 
Yes, a song from the fool ! Hush, hush ! 

Francis. 
I'll sing for ye, if ye will list to hear. 

\Sings^^ There was a knight of Bethlehem, 

Whose wealth was tears and sorrows ; 
His men-at-arms were little lambs, 

His trumpeters were sparrows ; 
His castle was a wooden cross. 

Whereon he hung so high ; 
His helmet was a crown of thorns 

Whose crest did touch the sky. 

Children. 
Pazzo pazzo ! Oh, what a fine song ! Well sung, fool. 

First Child. 
Your song is most beautiful. Here is your wreath. 

[ Throws nmd on him. 



ACT I. 7 

Conrad. 
How now, young knaves, ye do disturb the streets. 

\Cuffs them. 

Joachim. 
Get hence. 

Francis. 
I pray you suffer them awhile. 

Nicholas. 
We do remember you were once a friend. 

\Strikes a boy, who cries. 

Francis. 
Poor child ! I pray you do not smite my friends. 

Nicholas. 
Get hence, or you'll have something fit for tears ; 

\Exeunt Children. 
Stay here, I tell you, Francis. 

Francis. 

I obey, 
If thou wilt hit thine anger out on me. 

Conrad. 
Blows you'll not have of us, but pity, yes. 

Francis. 
I thank you, pity well befits my past. 

Nicholas. 
Ah ! stay that whine and hearken to our love. 
Once you were of us ; never will you be 
As then, but still you may redeem yourself. 
Repent your sins, if you would be a priest, 
But do the thing with righteous decency. 
Here, take this wine, you tremble with the cold. 



8 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis. 
I thank you. 

Nicholas. 
What, he gives it to a beggar ? 

Francis. 
I am refreshed, my limbs were somewhat chilled. 

[Nicholas rises. 

Conrad. 
Patience ! Do you remember me t 

Francis. 

I do. 
And once I smote you, and I pray you now 
To beat me heartily. Here is a stick. 

[ Taking the beggar's staff. 
Why do you weep .'* 

Conrad., 

Poor friend ! I weep for you. 

Francis. 
I thank you for those tears ; I'll weep for you. 

Joachim. 
Indeed we waste our words. 

Francis. 

Indeed you do. 
You shall not take me back unto your prison : 
The festering chains of richly wove attire. 
The unsubstantial banquets of fat food, 
The long dark hours of lust, the turning wheel 
Of hate that breaks the bodies of our love. 
I will no longer make my sorry jest, 
Mocked by the tyrant prince Iniquity, 
Nor will I dance before him in his halls. 
I have undone the curse and broke my bonds. 



ACT I. 9 

The Children return with a volley of stojtes and take 
flight, while CLARE enters with an Attendant. 

Clare. 
Poor man ! a stone has struck him and he bleeds. 

Francis. 
How sweet the word of pity from a child ! 

Nicholas. 
It is the Lady Clare, child of the ScifiEi. 

Conrad. 
She is a maid a man would fight to win. 

Clare. 
Friend, take my handkerchief Dear governess. 
Have we no alms to give him .'' 

Francis. 

Come not near ; 
'Tis not for innocence to touch my hand. 

Joachim. 
He means no evil, but his mind's obscured. 

Clare. 
His looks are gentle and his eyes are sad ; 
If he will come unto my father's house 
He shall be cared for. Come, my gentle nurse. 

{Exit with Attendant. 

Nicholas. 
Poor Francis, you're not fit for holy life ; 
Even a simple girl can stir your blood. 

Francis. 
And if my heart were full of noisome thoughts, 
Were it not stronger reason for my lust 
To seek the yoke of sternest discipline ? 

C 



lo THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY, 

It matters little what you think of me, 
For till my heart is innocent as that child's, 
It will not be the heart that I must make it. 

childhood tenderly compassionate, 
Could I but imitate thine instant love 

That knows nor rank nor shame nor outward seeming, 
That feigns not friendship nor dissembles hate, 
But sweetly gives itself in charity ! 

Joachim. 
He talks as if he were an old, old man. 

Francis. 

1 have lived a long, long life away from God. 

Enter PICA. 

Pica. 
Francis, my son, Francis, my dearest child. 
Your father knows your sojourn in the town, 
And even now comes on with armed men. 
He says you stole some goods and took their price 
For your own uses. Fly without delay. 

Francis. 
Dear, cherished mother, do not grieve for me. 
For from the deep, dark dungeon where I lie 
I see the light of my deliverance. 

Pica. 
Why didst thou take the money 1 Well you know — 
But fly, I hear them come. 

Francis. 

You bid me fly, 
But, mother mine, this is my wedding day. 

Nicholas. 
And even to his mother insolent ! 



ACT I. II 

Pica. 



Alas ! It is too late. 



Enter PlETRO, with Angelo, Consuls, Captain and 
the Guard, Citizens. 

PlETRO. 

See how he stands, 
The son of honourable citizens, 
Who toiled with all the love that parents know 
To make his place a fine and worthy one ! 
Long dangerous journeys did I undertake. 
And long time was my Pica left alone. 
For this our child, and often did we speak. 
My wife and I, beside his little bed 
In whispers of his future. See him smile. 
I'm no choleric father, feared and shunned ; 
I nurtured him with grave, restrained love, 
Forgave his follies and extravagance. 
Perhaps was proud of them, as fathers are. 
I would have had him carry on my business ; 
He wished to take up arms ; I acquiesced. 
And bought him an equipment for the wars. 
You know how long he followed with the flag. 

Citizens. 
He is justly angry. — He ought to have been more 
severe. 

PlETRO. 
Hear me and judge me. Even cowardice 
I could forgive, because he was my son : 
But when he comes in shameful mockery, 
Talks of his sins, and tries to play the saint, 
Shunning our sights as though we were his lepers. 
Reproves me for my pride, my avarice, 
I who had only pinched to win him wealth, 
And with his boasted vows of poverty 
Steals from my goods and dissipates my store, 



12 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Casts to the winds the patience of long years, 
Estranges his own mother from her spouse, — 
That was the term to fatherly forbearance. 

Citizens. 
The trouble wouldn't have happened if Pietro hadn't 
sent his son among gentlemen. — My sons don't give 
me any trouble. 

Pietro. 
A taste of jail will do the caitiff good. 
Observe, I shame my name to win him back. 
When he has cooled his heels in yonder prison, 
I'll send him out into the world again. 
Now, consuls, do your work. 

Francis. 

One word, I pray. 

Pica. 
Francis, be silent to thy father's wrath. 

Francis. 
Mother, be sure, if ever filial love 
Was wanting in my heart, it is not now, 
When I must go an orphan. I have been 
A thankless son, selfish, undutiful ; 
He should not much miss me, who never made 
Any return. His anger is most just. 
He saved and thought for me, and all I gave 
Was black ingratitude and cowardice. 

Citizens. 
There, he confesses his fault. 

Francis. 
Let me continue. Thou, O father dear, 
Wast ever worthy and most generous, 
And yet the worst of fathers ; ofttimes love 



ACT I. 13 

Does grievous harm because it will not see 
Its gifts are less of helps than hindrances. 
Thy love paternal offers wealth and ease, 
Consideration, honour and a home ; 
Thou only askest for a little grandson 
To sit upon thy knee, and then content 
Thou wilt descend to take thy just repose. 

PlETRO. 
And why should not this be ? 

Francis. 

I do not know 
Why Heaven parts us, why our private lives 
Should be dissevered, why I should stand thus, 
A misery to myself and scorn to others ; 
Why these things are, I do not understand, 
Only I know those things will never be. 

Consul. 
Francis, consider well thy father's love. 

Francis. 
I have considered it and find it wanting. 

Citizens. 
Shame on you, Francis. — He goes too far. — Who 
would have thought him so cold in heart. — He de- 
serves whipping. 

Consul. 
We make you prisoner, young Bernardone. 

Francis. 
You cannot. 

Consul. 
Cannot ! Captain, do your duty. 



14 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis. 
I plead the benefit of clergy. 

PlETRO. 

So! 
You think the Bishop's eye will countenance 
Your heartlessness. 

Consul. 
How do you ground your plea ? 



Francis. 



I am a clerk. 



Consul. 
(Perhaps that's fortunate. 
These private quarrels only make us foes.) 
My man, go in, present my humble duty, 
And ask his lordship if he can receive me. 

{Exit one of the Guard. 

PlETRO. 
Once it was thought a son would tell his father 
When he a clerk became, but then that was 
In the old days long past when we were young. 

Captain. 
You press too far. Get back. The Bishop comes. 

Enter the BiSHOP with his Confessor. 

The Bishop. 
Peace be with you, my friends ; what have we now } 

Consul. 
Pietro Bernardone has accused 
His son Francesco of a certain theft. 
The accused has pleaded benefit of clergy : 
If your kind lordship thinks the plea is good, 
We only wish to put him in your hands. 



ACT I. 15 

The Bishop. 
'Tis of our knowledge that he is a clerk. 

Consul. 
Then is our office ended, good my lord. 

The Bishop. 
Do you uphold your accusation, sir ? 
You look disturbed, and we would counsel you 
To wait on your decision till the morrow ; 
Meanwhile your son shall be in our safe hands. 

PlETRO, kneeling before the BISHOP with Pica. 
My lord bishop, I accuse not my son of thieving 
aught from me, save himself. I wish to have him 
back to my love ; your lordship sees he is in piteous 
plight Bid him, we pray you, come back to us. 
We are good simple folk, Pica and I ; God gave 
us a son, shall that son take God's gift from us .-' 
We are old folk, we have worked late and risen early 
for our children's good ; they should not leave us in 
our old age. When your lordship took holy orders, 
we are sure you did not disdain your parents; he 
hates us, and takes our savings to give to his beggar 
companions. Your lordship knows we have done 
acts of charity ; we gave fifty crowns to the poor 
when your lordship came to the see, and ten yearly 
to the parish church, latterly increased to fifteen, 
and much alms to our poorer neighbours. Francis 
is very young, my lord ; I have perhaps been hard 
on him. If you will give him a good counsel, he will 
return and be a good lad. See you, he weeps. 

Citizens, 
Pietro has been a good father. — We all swear to that, 
my lord. — Francis will be a good son again. — Let his 
lordship speak. 



i6 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

The Bishop. 
Your son came lately to us to request 
Our counsel in this matter, and with tears 
Lamented of his life and of the hurt 
His father's love would take of his withdrawal 
Into the straighter road. We feel your grief. 
You are not the first father who has grieved 
Because a son has left his earthly home 
To seek a heavenly. There we weep with you. 
But we must needs rejoice to find a lamb 
Come young into the fold, and with your tears 
Our gladness must conflict. Come hither, Francis. 
The day is come for thee to justify 
The vows of a conversion which began 
In some extravagance. In your brief years 
You have done much of evil, little good, 
And it was time that you grew wise to see 
The errors of your ways. We had preferred 
More modest change of mind, but as it seems 
Your heart requires this mode of penitence, 
We do not blame it, only we require 
To be assured of its continuing. 
Two paths are set before thee for thy choice, 
And each is good, though one is holier ; 
Be wise to choose, that when the choice is made. 
It may be final, not to be revoked ; 
And that thy steady footsteps still may walk 
The road thou hast determined on to-day. 

Francis. 
This is a great event for me, 
A serious and a solemn occasion ; 
It is my bridal day. 
There is my mother who bore me. 
There the font of my baptism, 
These my fellow-citizens. 
You, my lord, the priest. 
This is my wedding garment. 



ACT I. 17 

Citizens. 
His speech is strange. — Has he offended Heaven ? 
— He is mad. 

Francis. 
I strangely won the maiden of my choice. 
You all remember how I proved a coward ; 
'Twas when I went to fight 
With Gauthier de Brienne. 
All that day I sang of feats of arms ; 
When the night came I could not sleep 
For thinking of this Gauthier de Brienne, 
Hoping that I should die for him 
In some terrific fight. 
As I fought and fell for him, 
Smiling with dying lips to have his praise. 
Another knight came to me : 
In the dim early hours 
I saw him stand beside my bed. 
About his gentle face a coif de mailles 
Such as no earthly armourer 
Has for mightiest prince devised ! 
His hauberk was a beauteous marvel, 
But not brighter anywise 
Than his stockings of mail and golden spurs. 
Over all 

A surcoat of white sarcenet. 
Whereon a cross did shine ! 
He bore a fair crbss-hilted sword, 
A blazoned shield hung on his back : 
Thus was my knight arrayed. 

Citizens. 
Who was the knight came to him 1 — Let him 
continue. 

Francis. 
I felt this knight did love me well, and said, 
" What can I do for thee ? " 
He looked intent into my eyes and said, 

D 



i8 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

" Thou must be of my troop." 

" Kind knight," I said, " I serve 

With Gauthier de Brienne ; 

If I desert this gallant cause 

A coward I shall prove," 

The knight looked again on me, 

" Then be my coward," he replied. 

He came and sat upon the bed, 

But I still obstinate, 

" With my Gauthier de Brienne 

A pair of spurs I'll win," 

" Of me thou shalt have scorn 

As thy grave sins well deserve, 

Hunger and blows and hate, 

The meanest place of all," 

The knight so fairly said this word, 

That I replied, " I almost find it wise 

To serve with thee." 

He leant on me and sighed. 

I took his hand to comfort him, 

And saw a wound thereon as of a nail. 

\T he people cross themselves. 
I knelt to him 

And said, " O knight, thy coward I will be ! " 
Hearken awhile. 

The knight then told me of his wars, 
Told me of his ancestral home. 
Showed me his shield, 
Charged with the emblems of the passion. 
And promised me not spurs, but wings, 
If well I fought ; 

And further promised me a bride — 
Her name is Poverty, 
And now my bridal day is come ; 
Here are my parents, my friends ; 
The children have thrown flowers ; 
Hark to the wedding bells ! 

[ The bells ring from the tower. 



ACT I. 19 

Citizens. 
Didn't think 'a could talk like that. — A father 
should not hamper a wise son. 

The Bishop. 
Thus you do choose to walk the straighter road. 

Francis. 
And I am now husband to Poverty. 

PlETRO. 
Go then your way ; I have another son. 
Come hither, Angelo ; forgive thy father 
Who has preferred ingratitude to thee ; — 
And that reminds me, I must have that straight. 
Francis, my lord, I will not say my son, 
I fear will seek to have his lawful share 
Of my inheritance when I am gone, 
And thus would cheat my son, my only son 
Who's true to me ; if Francis is sincere. 
Let him renounce his heirship unto me. 

Citizens. 
He won't give up his rights, — Not he ! 

The Bishop. 
The father's plea is just. What do you say .'' 

Francis. 
Before your lordship I renounce my share 
In all the goods of Messer Bernardone, 
Whom once I father called ; and for the earnest, 
Here are the only things of his I have, 
Useless cerements ; this last frail garment thin, 
I ask to keep till I can get another. 

\He throws off his clothes. 

Pica. 
Poor child, he'll take his death. 



20 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis. 

Farewell, poor rags ! 
Henceforward I shall wear a brighter garment. 

The Bishop. 
I weep for joy to see thee do this thing ; 
Come to my heart and let me shelter thee. 

Juniper. 
My lord, here's my cloak for him. A mean one 
enough, but willingly given. 

Francis. 
I thank thee, friend. 

Citizens. 
Well done, cobbler. Thou'lt be a saint next. 

Juniper. 
I'll break the head of any man as tries to fool me. 

Francis. 
Tell me, what is thy name .'' 

Juniper. 
Juniper. 

Francis. 
Who knows but I may need thee for a staff .-' 
\To a Painter,] My friend, hast thou a brush of paint 
to spare ? 

[Paints a cross 07i the back of the tunic. 
I thank you. My equipment is complete. 
I will go forth with my wounded knight, 
He has such sad eyes, 
He died for me, 
I am his coward. 
Thus I go forth. 
I shall come back 



ACT I. 21 

To announce his victories. 

He takes the world captive ; 

Surely this little town ; 

The walls crumble before him ; 

I see the streets filled with smiling prisoners, 

Showering flowers and glad tears ; 

These bring the city's allegiance, 

Those pay tribute to the saints. 

And there upon the mountain snows, 

Our gentle conqueror 

And peerless knight, 

Christ our King. 

I am the herald of the great King, 
I am the herald of the great King, 
I am the herald of the great King. 

{^Exit. PiETRO stoops down and takes away 
the clothes amid a silence. 



ACT II. 

A terrace by the ruined Chapel of the Career i. A 
shrine of the Madonna. A rude well, rocks, shrubs, 
and the springlit hillside. JUNIPER alone. 

Juniper. 

BROTHER Bernard to visit a sick woman, Elias 
to confer with the Bishop of Assisi, Sylvester to 
say the ofifice of the Porziuncula, Brother Juniper to 
mend shoes and cook for the brethren. There's no 
disputing it, I have the humblest work to-day. Brother 
Juniper, pride is a sin. There can be pride in humility. 
I've caught you again in your wicked pride. Two 
paternosters and an ave for that. Insensate, shocking, 
Satanic pride ! I'll give you a gloria too. 

Now, shall I cook first, or cobble first } Cobbling's 
my trade, cooking's my pleasure. Then let me do my 
work first, as it irks me. No, for then I shall be looking 
forward to my cooking. Then cook first. No, for the 
brothers would have cold dinners. So I'll e'en cobble 
first and put a touch to Father Francis' new sandals. 
Now to work. It's strange that a silly cobbler like me 
should join the brothers. A boozing, godless, melan- 
choly cobbler, who thought a good shoe better than 
all the relics going. Then that quiet young man 

Enter a Peasant. 
Good morning, my friend. 

Peasant. 
Morning, father. Is Father Francis within } 



ACT II. 23 

Juniper. 
No ; he's on the hillside praying. There, is he not 
beautiful ? What humility ! What unction ! It is a fine 
season for prayers, is the spring. Now, what for thee .'' 

Peasant. 
I brought some firewood for the brothers. 

[^Gives a bundle of sticks. 

Juniper. 
Thou good, charitable soul. These logs will become 
prayers. But, lord a' mercy, you're half naked. 

Peasant. 
Never mind that, father. I do have aches in my back 
from the cold, and all sorts of pains this bleak weather. 

Juniper. 
These spring days are cold. Would I could give 
thee my tunic ! Father Francis has laid me under 
obedience not to give it away, or any part of my habit. 
But if thou wilt take it off my back I will not resist 
thee. Say nought, my son. Bless thee, bless thee, 
and good-bye. 

Peasant. 
(Tain't much, but it's worth eight soldi.) The 
Madonna keep you, dear father. {Exit. 

Juniper. 
How much lighter I feel ! I shall catch cold ; so 
much the better. A sinful creature like me should 
not be so strong and well, while the other brothers 
have so many dolours. 

Enter Elias. 
Ah ! Brother Elias, how you have sped. 



24 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Elias. 
I have good news to tell. The Bishop thinks 
The proper time is come for us to ask 
The Holy Father's sanction for our vows. 



Juniper. 
The Holy Father? He won't see simple brothers 
like us. 

Elias. 
Be not disturbed, good brother Juniper ; 
Live in your peaceful manner ; this is work 
For wiser heads. Is Francis in his cell } 



Juniper. 
Father Francis is out on the hillside. {Exit Elias.] 
I hope no ill will come of this. 



E?iter a poor Woman. 

Woman. 
Alms, for the love of God, my father. We are perished 
for want of food. My man has hurt his hand and 
cannot work. My little baby is sick. 

Juniper. 
Poor thing, I am so sorry. I have nothing. Stay. 
Wait a while. There should be something on the 
altar. \Exit, and returns with a bit of hangi^ig.'] 
These bells are a superfluity. Oh, thank me not. 
Kiss thy baby for me. I'll ask Brother Bernard to go 
and see thy husband. Poor thing ! poor thing ! \^Exit 
Woman.] I wonder if I did wrong in giving away 
these bells. Father Francis told me to give nothing 
without his permission. Eh ! that is his voice : I think 
I'll come and sit by this rock. There's less wind. 



ACT n. 25 



Enter FRANCIS and Elias. 

Francis. 
Are we not powerful and recognized ? 
A quiet monk in a retired cell 
Might rule the world by prayer and never know 
Himself to be a king ; the worth of us 
Is not in human praise, however high ; 
Deeds find their level. Look upon the trees 
Sitting in majesty, with vernal crowns 
Upon their heads : they ask not to be known ; 
'Tis not the forester who ticks them off 
Who makes their stately height, but patient days 
Of leaning to the sun, and peaceful nights 
Of dewy sleep and unambitious dreams. 
Thus let us grow ; we may be honest beams 
To build the house of faith, or gird the ships 
That breast the wearing of the stormy seas. 

[Juniper sneezes and ¥^MiClS finding him 
hidden brings him out. 
Who gave thee leave to sneeze on such a fine spring 
day ? Where is thy tunic 1 

Juniper. 
A good man took it off my back and went away 
with it. 

Francis. 
Thou rememberest what I told thee } 

Juniper. 
Yes. 

Francis. 
And what else hast thou given away .-' 

Juniper. 
Nothing. 

Francis. 
NothinsT at all .^ 



26 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Juniper. 
Nothing except certain little silver bells on a hang- 
ing of the grand altar. I gave them to a poor woman 
who had great need of them. Her husband has hurt 
his hand and cannot work ; her little baby is sick. 

Francis. 
Thou didst well to help her. I commend thee for 
thy charity. But thou hast been disobedient, and for 
that I must give thee a sound correction. 

Juniper. 
Dear Father Francis, I will first call the brothers, if 
I may ; nothing is better for me than to have a good 
humiliation before them. [Rings the bell.'] Brother 
John, Brother John, come and see Juniper properly 
corrected. Brother Masseo, Brother Ruffino, Brother 
Leo, come quickly. Brother Juniper has been disobe- 
dient ; come and see him punished. Brother Sylvester, 
Brother Giles, come and hear Father Francis speak of 
obedience. Father, you must give me a sound correc- 
tion of hard words to soften my wicked heart. 

Enter the Brothers. 

Giles. 
Is Juniper in trouble again ? 

Francis. 
Giles, will you fetch me my new tunic ? \Exit Giles. 

Leo. 
If Brother Juniper is to have a correction I pray 
you give me half his punishment. 

Francis. 
My sons, it is well that you should hear what 
Brother Juniper has done. He has cut off the silver 



ACT 11. 27 

bells from the hanging of the altar to give to a poor 
woman whose child was sick. — What a noise the birds 
make ! it is as if they wished to join our colloquy. 



Enter GILES. 

I cannot hear myself speak. I pray you stay a 

moment while I speak to them. 

'Tis well ye praise your Maker, little birds ; 

Praise Him in every hour and every place ! 

He gave you winged liberty to fly 

In this illimitable gracious air ; 

And for yourselves and for your offspring small 

A twofold and a threefold garment wove, 

Albeit ye neither spin nor sew. He sent, 

When all the world was ocean in His rage, 

Two of your ancestors into the ark, 

That little birds might still be glad to sing. 

He feeds you though you neither sow nor reap ; 

He gives you founts and rivers for your thirst, 

Mountains and valleys for to shelter you. 

And trees wherein ye make your simple nests. 

Be sure your Maker loves you very well. 

Who gives such bounties to you. Little sisters, 

I pray you hold ingratitude afar. 

And study always to adore the Lord. 

Juniper. 
They are quite silent. 

Leo. 
How they open their beaks and stretch their necks ! 

Juniper. 
See them flap their wings. 

Leo. 
They bow their heads to the ground. 



28 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis. 
What a multitude they make ! There is a swallow. 

Leo. 
What a sapient sparrow ! 

Francis. 
They are so familiar. 
Dear Lord, we thank Thee for Thy little birds. 

\Makes the sign of the cross. 
Fly away, little sisters. 

Elias. 
They go all ways, east, west, south and north. 
So will this order go by Heaven's will. 

Francis. 
As little birds, and still possessing nothing. 
Save wings to go where'er He wishes us, 
Flying on tender providential airs. 
And singing loud the glories of our Master. 

Juniper. 
Father Francis, you have forgotten my correction. 

Francis. 
Put on this tunic. Brother Juniper. 

Juniper. 
It is your fine new tunic. Father Francis ; 'tis much 
too good for me ; give me thy old one. I want to be 
humiliated. 

Francis. 
I have corrected thee till I am quite hoarse, dear 
brother. What can I more ? Give me a little water. 
[Leo brings him water from the well. 



ACT 11. 29 

Juniper. 
Oh ! what a wicked man I am. He is quite hoarse 
with weariness. I must find a remedy, I must find a 
remedy. {Exit Juniper. 

Francis. 
I would I had a forest of such Junipers ! 
Tell me, is Brother Bernard yet returned } 
Here is our brother as we speak of him. 



Enter Bernard. 
How goes our patient } 

Bernard. 

She is better now. 

Francis. 
You are not weary, Brother Bernard ? 

Bernard. 

No, 
If thou hast aught of work for me to do. 

\Exeunt tlie Brothers. 

Francis. 
Come, then, I have another task for thee. 

Enter Juniper. 

Yes, Juniper .? 

Juniper. 
Father, I have considered the remedy for your hoarse- 
ness, and have found this hasty-pudding for you. I 
pray you eat of it ; it will ease your throat and chest. 

Francis. 
I thank you, my son, but have you cooked for the 
brethren .■* 



30 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Juniper. 
No. - 

Francis. 
Then I pray thee do thy cooking, for the brothers 
are hungry. 

Juniper. 
I pray you eat of my hasty-pudding at once ; it will 
do you good. 

Francis. 
I have no time ; I must confer with Brother Bernard. 
\Exeunt FRANCIS and Bernard. The silence 
is broken by the water trickling from the 
pail into the well. 

Juniper. 
Yes, O water ! thou mayest trickle down, drop by 
drop, but there's more thankful tears in my heart 
than ever water came out of thy well. 

Enter CLARE, alone. 

Clare. 
Is Father Francis to be seen } 

Juniper. 
I will send him to you, sweet lady, I would I 
knew why she is come hither, and alone. But 
curiosity is a sin. {Exit Juniper. 

Clare. 
To thee these flowers, O Virgin mother mild ! 



Enter FRANCIS. 

Francis. 
The Lady Clare is welcome. 



ACT IL 31 

Clare. 

You do know 
My name, kind father ? 

Francis. 

More, I do await you. 

Clare. 
Then may I plainly speak. Your life and words 
Have moved my heart, and if I might avail 
To serve the holy cause of Poverty, 
I wish to know how I may dedicate 
Myself to it, and what the mode and rule 
You would ordain, and what novitiate. 

Francis. 
Fair maiden, you mistake. There is no rule 
Nor any making of a preparation 
To follow Poverty. All goodly deeds 
Come of themselves in us. The mighty sun 
Asks not command to rise, nor does the wind 
Wait for the word to blow, nor do the streams 
Pause ere they dance into the thirsty plains. 
Nor do the flowers inquire before they bloom : 
There is a time for each, and unto thee 
There is no need save God's necessity. 

Clare. 
I am an ignorant and simple maid. 

Francis. 
That is a merit in the works of God ; 
What knowledge has the bird that sings His praise 1 

Clare. 
To sing to God and tend upon His poor 
Might be a woman's part. 



32 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis. 

Would she forego 
The child that woman ever longs to bear ? 

Clare. 
The Holy Mother once did bear a babe, 
There is no need that other babes should be. 

Francis. 
Could she prolong her prayers the whole night 
through ? 

Clare. 
Out of her weakness would her prayers grow strong. 

Francis. 
She could not leave the dear familiar hearth 1 

Clare. 
Can she forget the Heaven that is her home } 

Francis. 
Is there a maid who loves not rich attire .'' 

Clare. 
What finer vesture than humility ? 

Francis. 
The food of high-bred maids is delicate. 

Clare. 
But mean it is to sacramental bread ! 
Oh, tempt me not, my father, with these things, 
For they are little by my great desire. 
It will be hard to meet my sire's regrets. 
But else I have no fear except the Lord's. 

Francis. 
And well I know it, and this day for me 



ACT II. 33 

Is hallowed by a woman's promises ; 

Long hours of springtide calm have made me bold, 

And I have prayed to have a blessing shown 

Upon the brothers' holy strife, and thou 

Art come, the certain answer to our prayers. 

Enter BERNARD and Elias. 

Brothers, this is our Sister Clare, who will take 
to herself other sisters, and in St. Damien's live, 
following Holy Poverty. 



ACT III. 

The court of the Convent of St. Damien^s. Clare sits 
alone on a stone seat shaded by an olive tree ; to the 
right a road passing down into the valley. 

Clare. 

THE years go softly by and do not change 
My girlish gladness in my quiet life ; 
This Poverty is a kind elder sister, 
Who rules me by her love, and not her years, 
For she is firm and wins obedience. 
And she is merry when my thoughts are dull. 
And in her homely aspect she is fair ; 
Her eyes of grey are kind, and if her robe 
Be bound with thorns, 'tis very white and pure. 

Enter CONRAD. 

Conrad ! 

Conrad. 
Yes, Conrad come again to thee, 
Conrad who loves thee still. 

Clare. 

Hush, hush, my friend. 
Do you not see that I have taken vows t 

Conrad. 
And well that simple coif becomes your face ! 

Clare. 
I beg you to excuse — 



ACT IIL 35 

Conrad. 

My pretty Clare, 
'Tis but a day that I have been at home — 
We have been fighting by Pistoia's walls — 
And hearing that your heart was still to win, 
For you have not yet made your final vow 
In an established order, no, nor will. 
If a man's strenuous love can move your mind 
From this fantastic life — and all do know 
I loved you very dearly, and went forth 
And made your name resound above the din 
Of battle and the praise of other ladies ; 
And I have won much honour for your scarf, 
And bear on me the spurs my prowess won, 
And I have found thee, and before thy feet 
I put the loving prayer and worth of me, 
Conrad the cavalier of Castelfior. 

Clare. 
I am the bride of Christ. 

Conrad. 

Whose name be praised. 
But never did that dear and stainless Lord, 
Who holds all mortals in His fealty, 
Intend to separate well-seeming loves. 
If thou wert in a consecrated house 
I would not proffer the least plaint to thee. 
For my heart would be slain, and I would go 
Beneath the gloomy portals of despair 
And die a monk. 

Clare. 
I cannot speak with you. 

Conrad. 
1 am no famous knight, but at the least 
A decent gentleman of stainless honour. 
Should counsel thee more wisely and more well 



36 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Than a mean scabby beggar, dressed in rags, 
A recreant squire who tries to pilfer pity- 
By breaking of an honest father's heart, 
And shunning the more noble cares of war. 

Clare. 
Be careful how you speak of one who is 
The father of whatever's good in me. 

Conrad. 
But till he came you had some thought for me. 
Do you remember how we led the dance 
At old Count Adrian's house, and you were kind, 
And friendly were your eyes, until there sneaked 
This tatterling Francis in — fair is thy wrath ! — 
With his pale face and whining frantic tale, 
To build anew St. Damien's ancient house, 
And all the women in their silks and laces 
Clustered about this wretched mendicant, 
And when he went your eyes did follow him, 
Grown sad and pensive, and aloof from me } 

Clare. 
What woman could withhold her interest .'' 
He brought with him his bride, sweet Poverty. 

Conrad. 
But I do love thee, and the day is fair, 
And sweet it is returned from battlefields 
To look on thee, and in this summer noon. 
When all things are afire and mildly give 
Their bodies to increase, will not your heart 
Admit the kindly general law that bids 
The man and maiden love .'' My gentle Clare, 
Resolve to love me, come away with me. 
Come to thy noble father and declare 
A troth to me, and on the joyous morrow 
We will be wed amid our friends and servants. 



ACT III. 37 

And to my castle will I bear thee home, 
And there attended as thy worth befits, 
Thou shalt be loved and honoured ever more. 

Clare. 
If I could break a vow I hold divine, 
How could I give a promise of my life ? 
If I have hearkened to you, understand, 
'Tis only for my pity that your task 
Should prove all fruitless. Let me counsel thee ; 
There's many a dainty maid who would be glad 
To have thy homage. 

Conrad. 
It is thee I love. 



Clare. 



A love impossible. 



Conrad. 
I've played the lover 
Sleekly to-day, the next time that I come 
I'll show the man. 

Clare. 
That seems to veil a threat ! 
If you had loved the Clare who was your friend. 
You never would have spoken in such wise. 

Conrad. 
But I must have thee to my love, sweet Clare, 
And I am strong and resolute of will. 

Clare. 
And thus you let your passion rule your mind ! 

Conrad. 
I am acknowledged strong by all my friends, 
And if I ever yet did' set my mind 
On anything, it always fell to me ; 



38 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

This is a love that I do more desire 
Than aught which ever did determine me, 
And if I cannot win thee worthily, 
I'll get thee basely. 

Clare. 

May Christ pardon thee ! 

Conrad. 
I've said my say. I will retire, sweet Clare ; 
Yet in the pauses of thy evening prayers, 
Think you a little of your wedding robe. 

{Exit Conrad. 

Clare. 
Tears ? yes, a few — pity perhaps for him 
Whose honour is perverted by false love. 
And for myself, who shrink and suffer pain 
As does a rose leaf when it's rudely touched. 
There ; I am strong again. 'Twere better not 
Tell Francis of this thing, for many cares 
Are on him, and our chivalric sweet saint 
Would be much hurt therein. Ah ! Conrad, Conrad, 
The cavalier Conrad of Castelfior, 
You think that women love the show of strength, 
The clanking of the steel, the swelling throat, 
The waving of the hand } Were I in the world 
I'd make a school for lovers, and instruct them 
That a calm bearing well reposed on power. 
And a sweet deference to the ways of woman, 
A pure devotion and a tender care, 
Is the true way to win a woman's heart. 

Enter Pica as a Nun. 
Dear mother of our Francis ! 

Pica. 

Pretty pet, 
How young you look to-day ! 



ACT III. 39 

Clare. 

To be the head 
Of a grave sisterhood I 

Pica. 

But you have wept 
Some tears this afternoon ? Show me thy face. 

Clare. 
Here is my face. \Put& back her hood. 

Pica. 
Why did they cut your hair } 
I am sure the dear good God who spun its gold 
Did never mean it to be maimed like this ; 
Know you that I have saved a tress of it, 
And tied it with the pretty childish curls 
Of Francis. 

Clare. 
What would he say to that ? 

Pica. 
I often think — if I may say such things — 
My little Francis might have married you. 
I know that he was humble by your side, 
But he would have achieved an equal place 
And won you for his bride — your two young hearts 
So kindly do accord, and when ye speak 
There is a charming silence in the air, 
And when ye stand together, you so meek 
And he so brave, it is no little pity 
Ye may not kiss and swear a lasting troth. 

Clare. 
Dear friend, you must not say 



Pica. 

Why do you laugh 



40 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Clare. 
I will reprove thee if thou sayest more. 

Pica. 
Well, let the young live, and the old wait. 

Enter FRANCIS and BERNARD. 

Francis. 
Peace be to the ruler of St. Damien's ! Mother 
dear ! 

Clare. 
You came so quietly we did not hear you. Will 
you sit with us ? We are working awhile after the 
meditation. 

Francis. 
It's mighty pleasant under your olive tree. 

Clare. 
Whence come you, brothers ? 

Bernard. 
From Sienna. 



Enter Helen and two Nuns. 

Clare. 
So soon away after your return from Rome } 

Francis. 
Is this little lady a novice .-' 

Clare. 
Not yet. 
Know you, Francis, whom you have missed ? 

Francis. 
The Lady Giacoma ? 



ACT III. 41 

Clare. 
Yes, she left us three days ago. 

Francis. 
Ah ! the kind friend ! How the brothers love her. 

Clare. 
She wellnigh stole Juniper from them. 

Bernard. 
Sister Pica, have you heard that Francis has made 
an exemplary conversion of a wolf that ravaged the 
town of Gubbio ? 

Clare. 
We know that he founded an order among the 
birds. 

Francis. 
Fear not, my child, the wolf had a kind heart. I 
was once a wolf myself and prowled at night. But 
how are the doves we left with you, Sister Clare } 

Clare. 
Oh, they are quite of us now ; they are so familiar 
that they wake us up for matins. 

Francis. 
Dear mother, ever watching tenderly 1 

Pica. 
A mother's love is silent, dear my son. 

Bernard. 
The sun is wellnigh set. 

Francis. 
I will speak with Helen, and then we will continue 
our journey. {Thetwo Nuns make a revere7ice and retire. 

G 



42 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Clare. 
Yet first I pray you take a little supper; 
You know you are not strong, the nights are cold. 

Francis. 
Thanks, Sister Clare, we have no need to eat. 

Clare. 
He still refuses — though it were not much 
To let us show the hospitality 
Of serving him. Well, let the favour go ; 
Yet I had wished to have this little joy. 

Bernard. 
Francis, you do appear severe in this ; 
She merely wishes once to eat with thee. 
Did Sister Clare a greater grace request. 
It were thy duty to accord it her. 

Francis. 
You think, then, I should grant her this request } 

Bernard. 
'Tis meet you gratify her in this thing. 

Francis. 
Then, child, we are so glad to be thy guests. 

Clare. 
That is our good, kind Francis ; I am glad. 
Our cakes are famous, he will eat of them. 
Come, Helen. [Clare and Helen run out. 

Francis. 
Sweet are scents of tender spring. 
But not more sweet than women when they're true 



ACT III. 43 

And meek and holy ; were it not for them 
This sinful world had perished long ago. 

[Clare and Helen bring bread and cakes, 
water, and olives, and set them on the 
ground. 

Francis {Saying grace\ 
We eat and drink to Thy glory, most dear Lord ! 

Bernard. 
Amen. 

Francis. 
I often think the hour wherein we eat 
Is very edifying ; in this bread 
Most kindly sweet monitions do abide. 

\Breaks bi^ead and puts it o?i the ground. 
The house and hearth where ancient people dwelt 
Fall to decay ; little remains to us 
Of all that was familiar to them, 
Save that the bread they ate with lowly thanks 
Was of a corn no different to that 
Which grows from the same earth to the same sun ; 
The water that they drank was of the spring 
That flows to-day. Thus in our daily bread 
We eat with our forefathers, and are met 
With the old time, 

[Raises bread to his mouth, but lays it down 
untasted. 
Our speeches and our dress. 
The days and nights, are various with the climes ; 
Only at noon and at the set of sun, 
However that may rise or this may fall. 
The unnumbered dwellers of the whole wide earth 
Eat bread, drink water, some in nature's make. 
And others with absurd contrivances 
Of their pure savours into foolish tastes, 
But bread and water still. There is in this 
A kind communion with our fellow-men. 



44 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Where'er they be ; and tender is the thought 
Of the foregathering of young and old, 
Father and wife and child and serving-man, 
To satisfy the hunger earned of toil. 

\Putting aside the bread. 
Yet there's in this another sacredness, 
Because our gentle Lord ate earthly food. 
Knew earthly hunger. Often at the eve, 
In the sun-wasted, grace-abounding plains, 
He and His dear disciples sat together. 
Engrossed in wondrous conversations. 
And holy jests, and solemn silences. 
Thus when we eat we are with good men past, 
And good men living, and undying Heaven. 

\Says grace. 
We are most thankful to thee, O Lord, for this 
banquet, and do bless Thy name. 

Clare. 
But you have eaten nothing. 

Francis. 
Truly ? I hunger no more. 

Bernard. 
And I also am filled ; such nourishment there is in 
moral considerations. 

Francis. 
Little Helen, will you walk with me .'' 

[Exeunt FRANCIS and Helen. 

Clare. 

Brother Bernard, you should take better care of 

our Francis. He still has his cough ; he looks pale. 

These journeys are easy to you, but perilous to him. 

See that he sleeps not in open places, let him not walk 



ACT III. 45 

too long, make him eat at proper hours. You must 
think more of him. 

Pica. 
But, Sister Clare, he is their treasure. 

Clare. 
Then let them learn wisdom from a woman to pre- 
serve their treasure. 

Bernard. 
You forget that other people besides yourself do 
love him. 

Clare. 
If you love him well, you can care for him better. 
You promise me. Brother Bernard .<* 

Bernard. 
I promise you, Sister Clare. 

Enter FRANCIS and Helen. 

Francis. 
Helen prefers to wait a little while before she takes 
her novitiate. 

Enter Cecco with his two sons. 
Bless us, 'tis friend Cecco. 

Cecco. 
Father Francis and Sister Clare ! 

Francis. 
" Piping fresh and piping clear ? " Namesake, if 
thou growest so thin thou'lt pine away. 

Cecco. 
He, he! 



46 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis. 
And how's Mina and the baby ? 



Cecco. 

Rarely, Father Francis. And, Father Francis, I 

won't be denied. When I heard that beast Jacopo 

was in jail — bad luck to him for his bad pipe-playing! — 

I said to myself, I'll give Father Francis a double penny. 

Francis. 
I'll take it if thou'lt do something for me. This 
very night thou art to go to the jail window and call for 
Jacopo, and be reconciled to him. Oh, so you won't .'' 
[Cecco shakes his head.'\ Thou need'st not come to 
pipe to me again, Cecco. 

Cecco. 
He'll think I come a-mocking. 

Francis. 
Then give him this double soldo from me. Yes, 
you'll do it to please Sister Clare. 

Clare. 
You play so much better than Jacopo, you ought 
to be generous. 

Cecco. 
'Tis hard on a man that he may not hate his 
enemies. 

Francis. 
'Tis sweet to a man that he can love them. Friend 
Cecco, I, too, mean to be thy rival. \He picksupa bit 
of wood and a stick.'] I'll play on the viol to ye. 
Here's for a dance. \^He dances, and is followed by 
Cecco.] Come, Bernard, dance with us. 

[Francis takes Cecco by the waist. 



ACT III. 47 

Cecco. 
Ah ! father Francis, have mercy on a fat man. 

Francis. 
One fling more ; to it, Cecco, to it, Cecco ; I am 
spent. [They sit down exhausted, 

Cecco. 
Had you taken to pipe-playing, father, there would 
have been little chance for us. 

Francis. 
Nay, friend Cecco, each man to his task. 

Clare. 
Now dies the day, while soft religious bells 
Make it a requiem ; the sounds of toil 
Have ceased upon the plain, and all the herds 
Secure are housed. The gnarled olive trees 
Take cloaks of mist and sleep, the runnel waters 
Subdue their babble, and the wayside flowers 
Nestle upon their grassy pillows green. 



Enter Elias. 

Francis. 
How dark the shadows fall ! [Turning. 

Is't you, Elias ? 

Elias. 
I heard that you were seen upon the way, 
And hastened to attend you. 

Francis. 

It is well. 
How go the brothers } 



48 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Elias. 

As poor sinners may. 

Francis. 
Good-night, dear mother. \Exit Pica.] Will you 
pipe us down into the valley, Cecco ? 

Cecco. 
Lads, we're going to play the good brothers a bit 
on their journey. 

Francis. 

Good-bye then, Sister Clare; good-bye, little Helen. 

[Clare and Helen kneel to his blessing, 

Francis, Bernard, Elias, and the 

players descend into the valley. Cecco 

begins to pipe. 

Francis. 
Not yet, friend Cecco. Good-bye, Sister Clare. 

Clare. 
Good-bye. {^Sounds of retiring voices. 

Helen. 
Is that Father Francis } 

Clare. 
He is most simple, is he not, my dear ? 
And not a hero as we dream of them 
When we are young. \A piping heard. 

He frightened you at first, 
Yet you ere long will learn to love him too, 
And seek him for your truest, wisest friend. 
And more than father. There is nursed in him 
Such sympathy of understanding love. 
And such resource of gentleness, that all 
Who cross his path are in their love renewed. 
The timid birds, the angry hunted beasts, 
Forget their instinct to devour or fly 
When they approach him ; men of hardest heart 



ACT III. 49 

Or meanest temper spring regenerate, 

When he has shamed their cruelties or fears, 

And take his qualities. \_T he piping ends. 

He is a sun 
That lights the life it gives, and makes us fruitful 
In whatsoever things we have to bear. 
The moon shines on us ; we, with lesser light 
Reflected from our Francis, still may give 
Continuance to his work, and soothe the world 
Weary of toil, and soiled by stain of sin, 
With the kind beams of womanly intercession, 
And the chaste plea of our devoted lives. 

{Exeunt Clare and Helen. 

Hymn. {Within.'] 
Virgin of all virgins, hail. 
Hail, sweet star of eve ; 
The poor labourer come to rest 

Kind thou dost receive ; 
Help thou hast for sordid wights 

Who toward ruin fare ; 
To thy daughters' lowly sleep, 

Mother, give thy care. 
{While these words are being sung the sky 
grows dark and CONRAD enters with men 
bearing a ladder, which they put against 
the shtitters of the dormitory of the Con- 
vent. All is silent and CONRAD pauses 
in indecision, then mounts the ladder, 
when a distant horn is heard to sound, 
and a man drops his sword on the stones. 
The shutters open from within, and in a 
strange light Clare is seen with the 
sacramental pyx in her hand, CONRAD 
falls from the ladder, men cry out and 
three foresters run in and disperse the 
marauders and seize C ON RAD, who lies 
groaning on the ground. 
H 



ACT IV. 

The chapel of the Porziuncula surrounded by snow ; the 
night is falling. FRANCIS enters with BERNARD, 
and meets Elias coming from the Chapel. 

Francis. 

ELIAS, as there has been some report 
Of an attack upon St. Damien's, 
Some months agone, I wish it to be published 
That the intruder now has paid the debt, 
And miserably died. Our Sister Clare 
Had nursed him in the cottage where he lay, 
Lingering till the falling of the snows. 

Elias. 
'Tis said that he was climbing in by night 
Till by the foresters surprised, who seized him. 

Francis. 
Nay ; Sister Clare heard an unwonted noise, 
And, taking in her hand the sacrament, 
Spurned the mean coward ere assistance came. 

Bernard. 
This Conrad loved our Clare, or thought to love her. 
If such an impious passion can be love. 

Francis. 
We buried him to-day. 

Elias. 
How was his death .-* 



ACT IV. 51 

Francis. 
His death was piteous ; but he had repented. 

Elias. 
The tale is very strange. 

Bernard. 

And sorrowful. 

Elias. 
The tale is very strange- 

Francis. 

Is very strange ? 

Elias. 
Why was he nursed by Sister Clare, not us ? 

Francis. 
The Sister Clare was fearful of our wrath 
Against the man, and only when his sickness 
Grew mortal, she required our offices. 

Elias. 
And she had nursed him all the summer through } 

Francis. 
What do you mean } 

Elias. 
'Tis not for me to speak. 

Francis. 
Speak, in the name of your obedience ! 

Elias. 
When first these women came into the order 
I knew there would be harm. Women are weak, 
Fitful and vain, and by their gentler lives 



52 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Assist the devil's snares, and in their pity- 
Console a passion till it takes a hold 
Upon their hearts. And are we well assured 
That Clare, who outwardly is most devout, 
Is free from blame in this ? The holy life 
Has sometimes covered sin ; it is our duty 
To watch upon each other ; at the least 
It was unwise for Clare to take this charge. 

Francis. 
I am assured of this, if any of us 
Can speak such doubts, and impudently accuse 
A gentle life, of utter innocence. 
There is an end to any brotherhood. 
Get thee away and pray until the dawn 
That thou may'st be as pure as Sister Clare. 

Elias. 
Forgive me my suspicions ; I have erred 
In thinking evil where no evil is. 
I'll pray that what I thought may not be true, 
And that all evils may be kept from us. 

\Exit Elias into the Chapel. 

Bernard. 
That's like a curse ; thus in the Afric wilds 
I've seen a serpent slant its head and hiss, 
And being afraid to sting, slowly retire. 

Francis. 
These things are hard to bear. Ah, brother Bernard, 
Full often looking through our present plenty 
I see a famine coming, and I fear. 
The marks of favour of the Holy See, 
The bringing of the heathen to the fold, 
The reconciliation in the town. 
Are all good things, but how shall they avail, 
If mutiny is in our house .'' The times 



ACT IV. 53 

Of intimate love seem gone from us ! we go 

So many ways ; 'tis not the unison 

Of a few hearts whose every rise and fall 

Sang sweet in comrade love of our Lord Christ. 

Yes, often you console me in my cares, 

But you are weary, Bernard. Go and rest. 

Good-night, may angels watch thee in thy sleep. 

[Exit Bernard. 
Lustrous, dear, immaculate, white snow. 
Thinking no evil, covering the ground 
Against the cold, and keeping soft and warm 
The seeds that shall be harvest, cool my brow ; 
Thou never wilt accuse thy sister water. 
Or brother fire. Ah ! my poor Elias, 
Misled by ignorance, I think, not malice, 
You blame our Clare ^ There was a sting in his 

words ! 
A father has a natural jealousy 
To see his daughter loved. I cannot put 
The thought from me : that is the special harm 
Of evil speech. This Conrad I remember 
Was a brave-looking knight, whom any maid — 
But I am thinking evil. Francis, Francis, 
Slander not with Elias, rise with Clare 
To the true reverence that knows not guile ! 
I'll go and help Elias in his prayers ; 
My heart is sick. — What ? I am not myself. 
What is it glimmers by the snow-clad thorn .-' 



Enter Clare. 

Clare. 
O Francis, I am glad that you are sound. 
Safe, and well. The horrors of this death 
Have much perturbed me, and I came as borne 
By an imperious wind to see thy face ; 
Give me thy blessing and I will go home. 



54 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis. 
I too have been disturbed, yet I should chide thee. 

Clare. 
Reprove me for my fears, for in your voice 
I take new courage 



Of One who hears- 



Francis. 

Which you might have asked 



Clare. 
Have I offended, Francis ? 

Francis. 
The -night is very cold, you must not stay. 

Clare. 
Francis, there's something on your mind to-night. 

Francis. 
You are no more a child ; I'll plainly speak. 
Sometimes by charity we cause to stumble, 
And as men's thoughts are ever prone to take 
A base interpretation, it is said 
Your woman's care for Conrad till his death 
Concealed a love for him. 

Clare. 

Francis, you know me ! 

Francis. 
I know you, Clare, but others may not know. 
I still commend thee for thy generous deed, 
But you have erred in not informing us. 

Clare. 
I am not strong enough to walk alone. 
And must rely on thee — O God, my God ! 



ACT IV. 55 

Francis. 
You are not ill. 

Clare. 
No — but I must go home, 

Francis. 
You do not doubt yourself — for evil words 
Oft bring us to suspect our purest acts. 

Clare. 
I know I loved not Conrad. Hush, who comes .'' 

\The door of the Chapel opens. FRANCIS 
motions to Clare, who goes into the 

shadow. 

Enter Sylvester. 
You have had blessing to your prayers to-night ! 

Sylvester. 
I have had a most comfortable prayer, dear father. 
Give me thy blessing. 

Francis. 
Thus do I give it thee. \Kneels and kisses his hand. 

Now give me yours. 

Sylvester. 
May Christ keep thee, husband of Poverty. 

{Exit Sylvester. 
Francis. 
Husband of Poverty ! 

Clare. 
But why did you conceal me } 

Francis. 

Could we fear 
The eye of man .-' 



56 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY, 

Clare. 
'Tis that we love each other. 

Francis. 
That we do love ? — 
It is the raving of the man that's dead 
That lingers in your ears, and hurts your thoughts. 

Clare. 
Then look me in the eyes. 

Francis. 

'Tis true, we love. 

Clare. 
Thou ever hast been master of my heart, 
Hast been with me in spirit night and morn, 
And I have waited for thy welcome step, 
And seen thy face upon my crucifix. 
And felt thy soothing hand upon my hair. 
Yet only thought of thee as of a father — 
But — may I be forgiven ! — in these hours 
Of watching by the bed and hearkening 
To the reiteration of my name 
In yearning accents cried — I must have come 
To think it would be sweet to hear that love, 
Spoken by one I held in reverence, 
And though unknown in me, deep, deep it lay. 
The question, and the longing, and my heart 
Waited for something, what, it could not tell. 

Francis. 
Thus years of vain and petty incidents 
Are gathered in a torrent, and our feet 
Are shaken in their hold on solid ground. 
When I gave up the world's last vanity 
And stood i' the market-place a public mock, 
'Twas thou didst pass, a child, and in my mind 
The first sweet yearning of young love upsprung, 



ACT IV. 



57 



Unnoticed then, yet by its difference 
Giving intensity to my despair ; 
And when you came to be the bride of Christ, 
Here in this very place that Easter morn, 
And all the freshly-bloomed woods did ring 
With joyous hymns of welcome, I was grave, 
Distraught and malcontent, I knew not why ; 
And when before the fiery Soldan's troops 
We scarce escaped cruel barbaric death, 
It was thy name that lingered on my lips 
And made death sad. 

Clare. 

But now we know ourselves. 




Francis. 
It is a bitter thing that we should love. 

Clare. 
We must not blame, but meekly take the burden 
That's set upon us. We will learn to bear it. 

Francis. 
Nor ever did I know that love was this ; 
We were two children born into a world 
We scarce perceived, and ere our thoughts were grown 
Even to stand on tiptoe and look out 
To know what things there are to be enjoyed, 
Suffered, or hoped for, we had chosen our lives. 
And now we stand and see. 

Clare. 

Beneath the Cross. 



Francis. 
And must we ever sorrow in its shade } 
Hath not the Prophet sung it in his rede, 
Shall not the voice of weeping turn to joy, 

I 



58 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

And we inhabit the fair house we build, 
And planting vineyards eat the fruit of them ; 
And there be naught of labour done in vain, 
Nor children born to perish, nor the elect 
Be punished for the sinner, nor the ungodly 
Sit in the place of power and order ill, 
Nor there be any drawing of the sword 
Upon the holy mountains ? For the dawn 
Must chase the night, and hatred be ashamed, 
And the high citadel of hell thrown down ! 
Have not the righteous lives of sacrifice. 
That fought with the eternal for its palm, 
Achieved deliverance ? Have not the saints 
And much-enduring martyrs brought the reign 
Of heaven upon the earth, and may not we 
In innocence of heart possess the kingdom 
And recreate the race that walked with God ? 

Clare. 
The air is full of bells, and on the trees 
Red roses hang, while mystical sweet scents 
Are wafted o'er the snow, and songs are made, 
And this should be the garden. Paradise. 

Francis. 
Kiss me, dear love, give me thy mouth to kiss ; 
Our bridal bed is strewn by angel hands, 
Love bears the veil, the stars attend on us. 
Who lovingly will make the world anew. 

[ They bend forward to kiss but start back in 
horror. 
Oh no, the Cross is not to be redeemed. 
And men must still come lowly, wearing weeds. 
And with their anguish and their tears anoint 
The cruel wounds of Christ still crucified. 

Clare. 
How did we come to this } 



ACT IV. 59 

Francis. 

The heart of man 
Is never thoroughly cleansed. O God, that we 
Should be each other's peril ! 

Clare. 

Dost forgive me ? 

Francis. 
We share the shame. 

Clare. 

Then let us help each other. 
To cast it from us, 

Francis. 
We have lived in a dream. 
And did we think the tempter would not plot 
'Gainst our salvations .'' He was not dismayed 
Because we could resist a cup of wine, 
Nor fell by gluttony nor sloth nor malice ; 
He snared us in the joy of gentleness. 
The kindly opportunities of love. 
Yet the avoidance was not difficult. 
What right have we to joy .'* We are too poor. 

Clare. 
What must we do .-' 

Francis. 
I am not fit to rule ; — 
And heavenly wisdom has a judge prepared. 

\_Goes to the Chapel door and calls. 
Elias, Elias, prithee come to me. 

Enter Elias. 

Elias. 
Clare, I have wronged thee in my thoughts, I know. 

Francis. 
O stay — listen to me. There was a man 



6o THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Who sought a bride, and by a happy chance 

Found one who did excel in every way, 

Loving and wise, and patient and sincere, 

A thrifty housewife — how could she be else ? 

For she was Poverty. He married her, 

And certain offspring did they have, whose love 

Was more than blessing. When some quiet years 

Had passed, with never faintest cloud of grief 

Or of misunderstanding, came a maid 

So charitably gentle, fair, and meek, 

That Poverty grew jealous ; she was old, 

The other young ; and she was hoarse of voice, 

The other had most merry sound of speech ; 

Her feet with difficulty went the way, 

The other tripped as lightly as the brooks ; 

And Poverty, to prove her husband's truth. 

Besought him, whether he should love or no 

The other maid, to see her face no more. 

He for his love to his wife Poverty 

Must needs obey, and, following her will. 

Learns that he loves the maid and not the wife. 

Elias. 
Is Francis sick .'' 

Clare. 
Is not the story clear .'' 

Elias. 
Then is our order perished. 

Francis. 

Nay, not so. 
But thou must rule it. 

Elias. 

I must rule the order.'' 
I have not the authority you wield. 



ACT IV. 6i 

Francis. 
You are not weakened by the bonds I bear. 

Elias. 
But you are free from actual taint of wrong, 
The vile abomination and the sin ? 
But answer me ! 

Francis. 
Thou dost not doubt, Elias ? 
That we have to our souls done grievous wrong 
Is manifest, but more — it could not be. 

Elias. 
Ye are agreed to part ? 

Clare. 
This very night. 

Francis. 
But I must be abased before her eyes : 
Take now my cord, and scourge me. 

Clare. 

Must this be .? 

Elias. 
What profit hast thou if thy body's scourged .'* 
It is thy soul that merits punishment. 

Francis. 
What should I do .? 

Elias. 

To spurn this earthly love 
Are you resolved to suffer once for all ? 

Francis. 
I am, I am indeed. 

Elias. 
Then — scourge the woman. 



62 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis. 
Not that, not that ! 

Clare. 
Francis, 'tis necessary. 
For both shall suffer with a mutual pain 
For the offence that both have nourished. 

Elias. 
You will not prove your loyalty to God .'' 

Francis. 
Surely I love my Master more than thee ; — 
This be the token of our penitence. 

\He undoes his knotted cord, while Clare 
kneels and bares her shoulders. He twice 
raises the cord. 

Clare. 
May heaven give thee strength to use the cord. 

[Francis ^zVf^i- the cord away. 

Francis. 
I cannot do it. Let the struggle end ; 
The full remainder of our severed lives 
Must do the task. 

Elias. 
Endeavour once again. 

Enter Juniper with a lantern. 

Juniper. 
Father Francis and Sister Clare and Brother Elias 
all intent on religious delights, still plotting good for 
the brothers and sisters, whether in sunshine or snow. 

Francis. 
I ever loved our lowly sister snow. 



ACT IV. 63 

Juniper. 
I had a game of snowballs with the boys to-day. 
I pelted 'em finely. But I must not stay talking. 

Elias. 
And we perhaps are here for penitence. 

Juniper. 
Penitence for you ! The angels are friends to Father 
Francis, at least, and Sister Clare. Have you com- 
mitted an error. Brother Elias ? 

Elias. 
We all are tempted, Brother Juniper. 

Juniper. 
Now I have discovered a very excellent way to 
avoid diabolical suggestions, for when the tumult 
approaches I run and close the door of my heart and 
hoist up the portcullis, and occupy myself with severe 
meditations, so when the enemy comes and knocks at 
the door, I answer, as it were from within, " Begone, 
for the Castle is full already and can hold no more 
guests," and this thwarts the besieger, so that he de- 
parts, not only from me, but from all the country 
round. Good-night. 

Francis. 
Leave us your lantern, Brother Juniper. 

Juniper. 
Burn bright, lantern, 'tis to light Sister Clare. 

{Exit Juniper. 

Elias. 
Now must ye part. 

Clare. 
Oh, must we part so soon ? 



64 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis. 
One thing I ask, but only as a plea. 

Elias. 
One thing I grant, but straightway must ye part. 

Francis. 
Bear her home — but do not speak to her. 

[Clare goes to Francis. 

Elias. 
Ye must not say farewell. Ye shall be dead 
One to another. 

Clare. 
It is better so. 

Elias. 
You, Francis, wait for me till I return. 
For as I humbly did obey your will 
When you were my superior, I must ask 
That you obey me as implicitly 
Now that I am superior over you. 

l^Exit Clare with Elias. 

Francis. 
Not blows, nor tears, nor lifelong litanies 
Shall calm this rebel fever ; I must go 
Into the wastes, be far removed from man. 
And give the fervour of my agonies 
To God's desire. 'Tis grievous O my Lord, 
If I may still come near thy hallowed name. 
That our united strength is lost to thee. 

O simple Francis, could'st thou dream of wife and 
child ? Fool, thou art too poor. 

\He piles tip blocks of sjiow to make grotesque 
shapes. 

This is my mate, a fair cold lady, who'll not heed 
me ; these my children. She goes in the pale dawn 
over the frozen stones. — Oh, no ! I may not think on it. 
I am too poor even to pity her, O bride of snow. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. The garden of the Convent of St. Damien's ; 
on tJie wall a Crucifix. FRANCIS, reclining, speaks 
with Clare ; a lily is between them. 

Francis. 

IS it so many years since we did part, 
Yet nothing here is changed, and only I 
Returning show the passing of the years ? 
Thus at the night the labourer cometh home 
And sits awhile, ere going in to rest, 
Considering the fulness of his toil. 

Clare. 
And thou art satisfied with what is done ? 

Francis. 
Alas for me ! My children disobey 
The simple rule I gave them ; they begin 
To build them monasteries, and make store 
Of worldly goods. They look on me 
More as a relic now than as a man : 
A paring of my nails, a scrap of hair, 
Almost my breaths are envied, and my end 
Is eagerly foretold and waited for. 
And, finally, of the unearthly signs 
I took upon the Mount Alvernia, 
They, if my resolution were not firm, 
Would make a peepshow for the gaping crowd. 

Clare. 
Many a vain report has come to me 

K 



66 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Of this event, and I as yet misknow 
What it portends, and how it may read. 

Francis. 
I may not tell thee, even thee, my friend. 
That I do on me bear the ultimate seals. 
The marks of nails upon my hands and feet, 
A wound as of a lance within my side, 
This must suffice thee ; more I may not tell. 

Clare, 
It is enough to know thou bearest them. 

Francis. 
I bear those marks. 

Clare. 

Then I am satisfied. 

Francis. 
The brothers are not satisfied, and give 
The story, as in vain imagining 
They think it should have come to pass, as if 
Aught holy could be known to those who have 
Deserted Poverty. They are my fruits — 
Perhaps the blossom always is most fair, 
And fruit to go into the use of men 
Must lose the delicate scent and soft-flushed hue 
That was so lovely and so promising, 
And such a pleasure to the father tree. 
Ah ! when the tree is old, and worn, and sick, 
And trembles on the ground, and feels the cold 
Creep into his sad body, it is hard 
To know his fruit half-rotted on the bough. 
And that his best is fallen from his reach, 
Forgetful even to ingratitude. 
But ever in such case there will remain 
One cluster that is worthy of his pride 
And reconciles him to his near decay. 



ACT F, SCENE L 67 

Clare. 
I was powerless to help thee as I would. 

Francis. 
Yet have you ever helped since we parted. 
Has the time been very weary with you, Clare ? 

Clare. 
Most have I suffered for thy suffering ; 
Yet was my courage holpen and upheld. 
I had thy mother for my consolation ; 
She, ere we knew it, knew we loved each other, 
And till she died, was as a mother to me ; 
And in the daily round monotonous. 
And with some sternness for my weaker moods. 
And for the knowledge that I fought with you. 
My tears were dried, and in my chastened heart 
My love for thee was to my love for Christ 
A lowly servitor ; it was the earth 
Wherein the bright eternal lily bloomed. 

Francis. 
But thou, sweet, art a saint, a blessed saint. 

Clare. 
Was there this need for us to be apart ? 

Francis. 
I am a man, and could not bear to look 
Daily upon the woman that thou art, 
Could not have heard thee speak or seen thee move. 
Could not have come to thee nor gone from thee. 
Without such great devouring pangs of heart, 
That to keep from thee was my only course ; 
Whether by fuller knowledge and thy aid 
I might have made my passion serviceable 
And pure as thine, I know not ; I must think 
This pain of absence excellent and kind 



68 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

And useful. In th' unrolling of my years 

I chiefly bless the pains ; I see, I see 

They were the sign-posts and directing spears 

To the desired land. I thank my God 

That He has thought me worthy to be foiled, 

Mocked, tempted, snared, deceived. 

Oh, take me, scourge me, shame me, dearest Lord ! 

Cast me out upon the thorniest seas, 

Whelm me in fiery-mouthed rocks, 

Whatsoe'er thou wilt I'll suffer, 

Born, living, dying, dead, 

Perinde ad cadaver. \He sinks down. 

Clare. 
And much thou hast endured, alone, unloved ! 

Francis. 
And yet to me thy love has been repose 
And cheer and refuge ! I can leave my task, 
I know that one will ever faithful be. 
And gathered into thy remembering heart 
My purposes shall prosper and go on, 
And not be lost. I will not give to thee 
Any direction for the sisters here. 
Thy love will teach thee. Love is very wise ; 
Before we speak he hears, and ere he sees 
Has understood ! Thy love completes my life 
And soothes my end, and in my love of thee 
Thou wilt be sheltered and accompanied ; 
'Tis but a little while we meet again. 
And now to say farewell. 

Clare. 

To say farewell ? 

Francis. 
Yet 'tis not parting, for my soul shall watch 
Thee in thy lonely world and single task. 



ACT V, SCENE I. 69 

Clare. 
Is all hope gone ? The end so very near ? 

Francis. 
'Twas but my hope to see thee and to die 
At home, that made the careful angel pause. 

Clare. 
May I not nurse thee for thy last dear days, 
And do my little for thee, tender heart ? 

Francis. 
I, loved by thee, shall have thee near to me. 
But wert thou present there are evil thoughts 



Clare. 
It is not God who separates us now ; 
'Tis those for whom thou gavest all thy days. 

Francis. 
I still have the affection of the few 
Who following first will love me to the last. 

Clare. 
Only I would some woman's hand might tend you. 
Could you not send to our friend Giacoma ? 

Francis. 
Pray then for her and she will surely come. 
Farewell, farewell. 

Clare. 
Give me some little thing 
That you have borne upon you for remembrance. 

Francis. 
I will enjoin on them to bring to you 
This cross that lay upon my dying breast. 



70 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Clare. 
Thy love is very tender. Ever kind 
Thou wast to me, O father of my faith ! 
My thoughts have never wavered from thy side, 
And ever will I keep thee in my heart, 
Thy gentleness, thy laughter, thy commands, 
Thy wishes spoken and thy purposes, 
The love thou gavest me, dear heart, dear heart ! 

Francis. 
Weep not, my child ! consider me as dead ; 
My love, 'tis only for a little while ; 
Now I am dead I lose so many pains ; 
I could not long go on to bear the load. 
And death released me. And for thee, my love, 
I could not kiss thee as I longed to do. 
But ere I went I left a kiss for thee, 

\He kisses the crucifix on the wall. 
Upon the feet of our Lord crucified. 
Thus at the throne of love our lips had met ; 

\_He puts his hand on her head as she bends to 
kiss the crucifix. 
Our earthly love denied was given to God, 
And taken up into His pitying bosom 
Became a treasure safely kept for us, 
Till when thou come and Love be all in all, 

\He falls in a swoon. 



Scene 2. A turning in the road in front of 
Assisi. A procession : Francis borne on a litter 
by his Monks ; Citizens and Soldiers, and Children 
following. 

Francis. 
Here set me down, I have to say farewell. 
I should have thought the partings I have taken 
These latter days had emptied out the vials 



ACT V, SCENE II. 71 

Of tears, and none remained to me to give 

To skies or trees or stones which once were dear ; 

Yet now I see thy youthful face, Assisi, 

And pass thy pleasant lands, I seem to feel 

As though I left a friend. O, little town, 

Set high upon thy hill, and guarded well 

By th' elephantine big Subasio, 

And by the stream Tupino, many times 

Have I come up to thee, and paused to mark 

How much of good strong walls and gardens fair 

And blessed churches were in thee ! Thy ways 

Go everywhere, into the sunny plain. 

And on the mighty mountains, for thou hast 

Sweet habitable spots for gentle work. 

And lonely places meet for solemn prayers ; 

Thou art the brightest gem of Italy, 

For Umbria is Italy's best plain. 

And thou the plain's most stately precious town. 

And Umbria's brightest star. Oh, could I now 

Put my two arms about thy neck and press 

A kiss upon thy forehead ! Thus I bless thee, 

May all thy citizens be brave and kind, 

Thy women fair and true, as ever yet 

They have been found, and may thy city stand 

Set far above decay, and rage, and wrath. 

Or vile oppression ; may thy streets and rooms 

Be full of heavenly songs and goodly joy. 

And thou still holy, bountiful, and free ! 

My brothers, I have in this moment found my place 
of burial. There on the Mount of Hell lay my bones, 
beneath the gibbets, that the poor felons may have a 
comforter. Now go on. 

The People. 
Behold the Saint, behold the Saint ! 

Francis. 
I do implore you, say not that. It hurts me. Take 
m e hence. [ T/ze procession passes. 



72 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 



Scene 3. The hut of Francis adjoining the Porzinn- 
cula. The Brothers stand without. Sylvester 
comes ottt zvith the sacrament, and in answer to a 
mute inquiry shakes his head. Elias follows him. 

Elias. 
Keep him within, I pray you. He desires 
To issue, and I fear his fevered brain 
May make him play some folly ere he dies. 

\Calls a Soldier. 
What is your news ? 

Soldier. 

I went as I was bid, 
And told them that we would not let them come, 
As we desired to keep our saints ourselves, 
And would have no one sniffing round their bones. 

Elias. 
Foligno then should give no further trouble. 
Have you set watches in the several towns ? 

Soldier. 
I have had full reports. There is some talk, 
But no one seems to know the end's so near. 

Elias. 
I thank you ; here's your pay and something more ; 
Keep a good watch, and at the slightest sign 
Come straight to me. 

Soldier. 
I surely will, my father ; 
Give me your blessing. 



ACT V, SCENE III. 73 

Elias. 
Eh ? Is that the doctor ? 
Good-day to you, I pray you come at once. 

[Elias and the Doctor go in. Voices are 
heard ; the Brothers press forward to 
listen. The Doctor comes out. 

Francis \WitJLin\ 
Let me go out into the pleasant day, 
I pray you let me rise. Be not so hard. 
I'm very ill ; you should be kind to me. 

\They bring him out. 
What joy to die upon the flower-sweet grass ! 
Sit by me, brothers ; there's no need to kneel. 
The solemn offices of death are done. 
How the birds fly ! I soon shall have my wings. 
What is the time of day ? The sun's too bright. 

Bernard. 
'Tis almost at the setting of the sun. 

Francis. 
I thought 'twas noon — I — I am rather hoarse. 
Hast not a hasty-pudding, Juniper } 

Juniper. 
If a thousand lives of mine would make one hasty- 
pudding, thou should'st have it. 

Francis. 
Take off my clothes ; I wish to leave my vows 
As I came into them, without a rag 
Or anything that I can call my own. 

Elias. 
Hast thou not had enough of poverty } 

Francis. 
That's true ; perhaps I have been somewhat stern. 

L 



\ 



74 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Poor brother body, I have hurted thee 

Too much, perhaps, for thou wast sick and frail, 

Yet never didst complain, but meekly took 

All my imperious spirit set on thee ; 

Now comes thy rest and kind deliverance. 

I pray you set my brother body free, 

And take away these clothes that hamper him. 

[ They take off his tunic. 
Sister Death, 
I see thee hovering. 
Long I waited for thee. 

Bernard, art thou there? Leo and Juniper and 
Sylvester? I wish all to love Brother Bernard. I 
commend him to you to love and to honour as you 
have me ; let all the brothers take counsel of him 
even as they have with me. Brother Leo, I bless 
thee, my little lamb of God ! Brother Sylvester, my 
father and priest ! Brother Juniper, kiss me. Elias, 
seek not to act too much against my intentions. [Elias 
weeps?!^ Oh, I know thou lovest me ; yet do I fear for 
thee and these. 

Bernard. 
Bless also all thy brothers near and far. 

Francis. 
I bless them wheresoever they may be, 
And also those who shall be of our vows 
In the late years unto the ages' ends. 
Would I could see them and commune with them, 
And lay my hands on their devoted heads ! 
Who is it comes .'' Let them approach, Elias. 

Enter the Lady Giacoma with her Children and 
Retinue. 

Giacoma. 
Warned by a dream, my father, I have come 
To nurse thy dying days, and have thy blessing. 



ACT V, SCENE III. 75 

Francis. 
I am very glad. 

GlACOMA. 
Tomaso, bring a little water here. 

\S he props him up. 
There, he is easier. Let me cool thy brow. 
Is this the way you nurse your dying father .-' 

Francis. 
Giacoma, stay in Assisi and help these poor orphan 
brothers. 

Giacoma. 
Thy wish has ever been my law, and now 
This doubly so ; be satisfied, dear friend, 
The brothers shall not be uncomforted. 

Francis. 
Then two women are true to me — thou and Clare. 

Giacoma. 
I will tell her thou didst speak of her. 

Francis. 
Do thou tell her, and say that, dying, I blessed her. 
Give her this little cross when I am dead. \He sleeps. 

Giacoma. 
Hush ! He will sleep awhile. 

Elias. 
I would he were more reverent of death, 
And met it waking with a sinner's fear. 

Bernard. 
A saint lies dying there. Disturb him not. 

Elias. 
YTo the younger '^xo^QXs,^ Stand not a-gaping; get 
ye back a space. 



76 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Francis \In delirium\. 
And there shineth the sun divinely manifest, 
While azure break the heavens 
Above the sombre clouds ! 

The trees with golden leaves are amorously clothed, 
Celestial grow the rocks. 
The hillside blooms a single flower, 
And peace encamps upon the solemn vales. 
And see, the Holy Seraph comes o'er the tree tops 

sailing, 
My love to him increasing, as he comes slowly, slowly, 
He has the wondrous image of a god crucified. 
Upon his head two wings ; 
Two covering his body and two outstretched for 

flight, 
He truly bears. — 
Ecstatic vision, union mysterious ! 
On me those wounds are sealed. 

Elias. 
His mind's astray, let him be taken in. 

Juniper. 
Come not near, Elias, at thy peril. 

Francis. 
Thou givest me calm seas to sail upon. 
And peace is on the waters, and the sail 
By gale of love is filled to bear us back 
To the delightful land of Italy. 
Nay, Captain, do not curse the infidel, 
Even the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall ; 
And I have seen the Holy Sepulchre. 

Elias. 
He must be stayed. 



'\ 



ACT V, SCENE III. 77 

Bernard. 
But these are precious words. 

Francis. 
I know I shall become a mighty prince ! [He awakes. 
Is to-day Thursday 1 

GlACOMA. 

Yes. 

Francis. 
Brother Leo, read to me. 

Leo. 
What shall I read to thee ? 

Francis. 
" Ante diem festum Paschae." 

Leo \Reading\. 
"Ante diem festum Paschae, sciens lesus quia 
venit hora ejus ut transeat ex hoc mundo ad patrem : 
cum dilexisset suos, qui erant in mundo, in finem 
dilexit eos. Et coena facta, cum diabolus iam 
misisset in cor ut traderet eum Judas Simonis Is- 
cariotae, sciens quia omnia dedit ei Pater in manus, 
quia a Deo exiuit, et ad Deum vadit : surgit et ponit 
vestimenta sua: et cum accepisset linteum, praecinxit 
se. Deinde mittit aquam in peluim, et cepit lauare 
pedes discipulorum " 

Francis. 
The sun is almost set ; 
Sing, birds and fly, 
I soon shall fly and sing with you. 
Sister Death, 
Mild art thou ; 
Come soon. 
Sinsf me the sone I made. 



w, 



78 THE HUSBAND OF POVERTY. 

Bernard. 
I cannot hear. 

Francis. 
Sing me my song of praise. 

GlACOMA. 
" Sing me my song of praise." 

Bernard. 
Brothers, let us sing the song of praise. Come, be 
brave. 

[ The Brothers stand up and sing, first in low 
voice, then with power. 

" Most High, most powerful and gentle Lord, 
Thine be praise, glory and power, with all blessing. 
And to Thee alone. 

Be praised, O Lord, with all Thy works, 
And specially for sir brother sun, 
Who is Thy day and splendour, 
And radiant witness. 

Be praised, O Lord, for sister moon and the stars, 
Inheaven Thou mad'st them wondrous, bright andfair ; 
Be praised, O Lord, for brother wind. 
And the clouds, and the good and every other weather. 

Be praised, O Lord, for our lowly sister water, 
So useful, and humble and chaste ; 
And for brother fire who lightens darkness, 
Who is fair, jocund, robust, and strong. 

Be praised, O Lord, for mother earth 
Who nourishes us in her government, 
Diversely bearing fruit and herb 
And many coloured flowers. 

Be praised, O Lord, for our Sister Death." 



ACT V, SCENE III. 79 

Francis {Starting up\. 
And for our bride Poverty. 

{He falls back and dies. The Brothers cease 
singing and gather round. The song 
is continued by tmseen spirits. 

" Be praised, O Lord, for those who forgive, 
And for love of Thee bear tribulation and pain ; 
Blessed be those who persevere in peace ; 
By Thee, O Lord, shall they be crowned." 



THE END. 



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